


A Welcome Distraction

by Cinaed



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bulma helps Vegeta exercise. Well, for a certain value of "help."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Welcome Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently after fourteen years, my love of DBZ has returned. Enjoy a silly little Bulma/Vegeta ficlet set in some vague, nonspecific time.

When Bulma came into the kitchen, planning on having a beer, she huffed out an exasperated breath.

Vegeta had obviously been here-- there were the remnants of a hastily made lunch spread out on the counter, as though he'd been too hungry to bellow and wait for someone to feed him. She eyed the empty bread bag, the open mayonnaise jar, and, as she stepped closer, the dirty knife abandoned in the sink. It was probably time to admit she'd never get him to clean up after himself. Not when he ate, not when he destroyed half the training drones, not when-- 

"Four hundred and twenty-eight," a voice muttered, and she jumped, startled.

Leaning over the counter, she peered down at Vegeta, who'd apparently decided that the kitchen was the best place to do push-ups. Her gaze traveled slowly over his bare back as he said, "Four-hundred and twenty-nine." His muscles flexed as he straightened his elbows. 

She nudged the trash aside and then hopped onto the counter, idly swinging her legs as she settled in to enjoy the show. Her bad mood faded a little, replaced by interest in the small sounds Vegeta made in his throat as he continued with his push-ups, close enough to sex sounds to make her grin. She rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the tension. There were better ways to relax, of course, and the little grunts Vegeta made were giving her a few ideas. She wondered if she could convince him to take a break. Based on past experiences, she had a fifty-fifty shot.

Vegeta ignored her, though she knew that he'd heard her come inside. After watching a few more push-ups, she startled to needle him. He was always more likely to have a break for sex if he was irritated with her first, which probably should've bothered her more than it did. She sometimes wondered if anger was tangled up with lust in his Saiyan brain, if Goku would've been the same if he hadn't hit his head as a kid. Not that she wanted to think about Goku and Chi-Chi having sex, she thought, shuddering, and steered her thoughts quickly to the safer exercise of annoying Vegeta into sleeping with her.

"Is the kitchen your new training room? Is there a reason you’re not using the actual training room? Please tell me you haven’t destroyed it again."

She hadn't heard any explosions or spotted any smoke coming back from the test-run, but then again she’d been out all morning and distracted, experimenting with the latest helicopter model for the company. Her mood soured a little, remembering. The test hadn't gone well. Combing her fingers through her windswept hair, she frowned, offended by Vegeta’s hair, which seemed to stay the same in all instances save for being Super Saiyan. _Hers_ probably looked a mess.

She’d taken her boots and socks off as she’d come in to the house; the helicopter had turned out to be leaking, and her boots were soaked in oil. She’d barely managed to land the damn helicopter before the engine had sputtered and died. Bulma frowned, momentarily distracted, trying to picture the blueprints and figure out what had gone wrong. Hopefully she and her dad didn't need to go all the way back to the drawing board on the model.

Vegeta was still ignoring her. She stretched out her foot as he pushed himself up again, but she only managed to brush his hair, his mane thick and prickly against her toes. She settled back onto the counter with a sigh. “Well? Do I need to start making new drones?”  

That got his attention. Vegeta raised his head to look at her. There was sweat beading his brow. The lines of his face were harsh from exertion, before they suddenly eased. He eyed her, amused, his gaze lingering on her hair. She clenched her hands in her lap so she wouldn't reach up and touch her hair again. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“Kick your ass, you jerk,” she said, though they both knew it was an empty threat. She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. “I just built those drones two days ago. If you broke another one, you're getting a job and starting to pay for all the shit you break.” When he just smirked at her, still not answering her perfectly valid question, she huffed. “Your sense of humor is crap. You know that, right?”

He laughed, a rough, sarcastic sound, but still it sent a familiar heat through her. Impatience rose up in her. She didn't want to spend the next twenty minutes prodding him until he growled and grabbed her and carried her off to the bed. (Though that last part would've been fun.) She needed to take things into her own hands. She hopped off the counter, grinning at the incomprehension in Vegeta’s eyes in the seconds before she planted herself on his back, holding on to his shoulders to keep herself steady as she crossed her legs and used him as a bench.

Bulma perched there. Even through the fabric of her pants he was pleasantly warm from exercise. She admired all the muscles on display, now well within her reach, and the slight, almost imperceptible flush on his nape. “Why are you even working out in regular gravity?” she asked, running a finger up his neck and repressing a laugh as he twitched and growled. “Does your body even notice, after training in 400 Gs?”

He didn't bend under her weight. His arms tensed. For a moment she wondered if he was going to ignore her and keeping doing push-ups, just to be an asshole. Then he turned his head. Now she could see Vegeta's expression, which sadly looked less pissed off and more amused. Her hopes for a sex break dwindled, though they didn't disappear completely. He drawled, “Is this your idea of being helpful? You’re heavy--” He smirked as she punched his shoulder. “As I was saying, you’re heavy--”

Frustration edged with arousal spiked in her. She bent her head close to his ear. “Vegeta,” she said, dangerously sweet. “You should accept help when it comes.” She felt a stifled laugh move through him, the slow rise of his chest as he drew breath to insult her again, and then bit at one of the tendons in his shoulder, hard enough that he’d feel it even if it wouldn't leave a mark.  

His breath escaped him in a harsh exhale. When he spoke, he didn't sound amused anymore. “Helpful? You think this is helpful?” When she cheerfully hummed agreement against his skin, pressing another sharp-toothed kiss to his shoulder, he added through gritted teeth, “You are a _distraction_.”

His tone made it sound like a curse. She laughed anyway, delighted by the rasp in his voice. Heat pooled in her stomach. She resisted the urge to press her mouth to the back of his neck, where the flush was most noticeable, and the other just as strong desire to reach behind her and touch her fingers to the spot where his tail had once been. The nerves there were still amazingly sensitive after all these years.

“I think four hundred and thirty-three push-ups deserve a reward, that’s all.”

Vegeta rose, suddenly.

She yelped, flailing as she tumbled off his back and hit the floor with a thump. She rubbed at her ass, all amusement gone. She glared at him. “That hurt, you jerk! What the hell--”

Her tirade died in her throat when he turned and looked at her. She knew that quirk of his mouth, the poorly hidden heat in his eyes. He was going to say something insulting or obnoxious, all meant to distract her from how badly he wanted her. Sure enough, Vegeta said, “You smell of smoke and engine oil. I take it your helicopter test went badly? If you needed to take your mind off your failure, you should've said so.”

Annoyance rose in her, the impulse to point out that failure was a necessary part of success a tangled mess of angry words in her chest. She inhaled sharply, gritting her teeth until the urge to shout passed. At last her irritation faded to a dull, pitiful thing compared to the arousal in her belly. Even irritated, she'd heard the low, rough note in Vegeta’s voice that he hadn't been able to hide. She pursed her lips, not calling him on his crap, though she needed only to lower her gaze a little to his training shorts and see the effect of her kisses and teasing. 

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” she said. Rising, she touched the spot where she’d bitten him, pleased by the way the muscle twitched against her fingers. His flush crept up his throat towards his face, but he didn't move. His gaze rested on her face, his eyes like dark embers. His lips parted a little, but whatever insult he'd thought up went unsaid as she stroked his skin again. She lowered her hand and sauntered past him towards the exit, tossing a final sally over her shoulder.

“Come on. I need a distraction, right? So, distract me.”

Vegeta growled, a low rumbling note that sent sparks up her spine, and followed. 


End file.
